Originally posted by mayim@May 3rd, 2004 - 8:42 pm After reading the interveiw with her in Elle last month I no longer think anthing of her. Not a big fan of snobs, unless they have something to be snobby about...

Can someone post that interview up? I keep hearing about it but I never know what she really said...

Originally posted by dramatique+May 3rd, 2004 - 10:30 pm--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE(dramatique @ May 3rd, 2004 - 10:30 pm)</div><div class='quotemain'> <!--QuoteBegin-mayim@May 3rd, 2004 - 8:42 pm After reading the interveiw with her in Elle last month I no longer think anthing of her.* Not a big fan of snobs, unless they have something to be snobby about...

Barton's thoughts on such reactions are psychologically astute, if perhaps emotionally less than generous: “I think they're just surprised I'm their age and they could in any way relate to me. Anybody who feels any kind of insecurity in themselves may be surprised that somebody their age would look like this.”
When I ask what kind of fan mail she receives, Barton says, “It's fascinating the stories you'll get.” For example? In a weary, singsong voice, she says, “Like, 'I was in the war and my leg got cut off and I'm in the hospital. I'll never walk again, but all I can do is lie in bed and watch your TV show.' It's just—stuff you get.” She shrugs and takes another bite of swordfish. I ask if that letter came from a soldier in Iraq, and she says, “I don't remember. But that one was big on the list of, like, heart-wrenching stories. Are you joking? The O.C.? Surely there are more important things in life than my stupid show. But, like, okay, if you feel that way. I'm like, that's”—she chuckles and rolls her eyes—“nice.” A couple of hours later we're at the nightclub the Troubadour, where a middle-aged blond enthusiastically chats up Barton. At the end of the evening, I ask what the woman said. “She knew an actress who had a small part in one episode. She said she was this person's next-door neighbor, and isn't she a great actress. And I said, 'Yes, yes,' to be polite. That's the thing about Hollywood,” Barton says, shifting on her three-inch heels and pulling up the right shoulder of her black minidress, which has been falling down all night. “Everybody knows someone. Or at least someone's sister's best friend's husband. Sweet, but painful.”
The first few times Barton spoke this way about people who admire her, I was surprised. I've never encountered an actress who said this kind of thing out loud, on the record. And while it would be wrong to let Barton's casual condescension go unmentioned, it would also be wrong to dwell on it.

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